Reaching for the Lost
by Ornamental Nonsense
Summary: A survivor crawled through the ship in search of one person, but Doctor Challus Mercer wasn't the man she remembered him being. She would try to save him, but with voices in her head and blood on her hands, she wondered if she could even save herself.
1. Chapter 1: I Don't Know You

Chapter 1: I Don't Know You

"What have you done?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and regret inevitably set in as a pair of dark eyes shifted in her direction. They weren't the eyes that she remembered, but something else entirely as the man before her regarded her frightened countenance. She tried to control the trembling, but her hands wouldn't hold still as the gun in her grasp wavered, the barrel pointed toward the floor in one of her poorer decisions. She should be pointing the weapon at her former lover, and she knew it. Yet part of her hoped to see something within his eyes akin to the warmth that they'd once shared. Where had it gone? Where had _he_ gone?

"You came," the man breathed. He stood before two stasis chambers, grotesque figures with seemingly charred and blackened skin within, their eyes glowing in dead stares as their hunched and contorted bodies floated. They looked like those damn necromorph creatures, yet the woman had never seen their kind before, and for good reason. Doctor Challus Mercer had made them into what they were: unwilling human subjects strapped down and subjected to viral implantations that mutated them into killing machines. The very idea made her sick, and she'd thrown up when she found the recording of the experiments.

"Samantha, come closer," the man beckoned. "Come see my work—God's work."

"No," she staunchly refused, swallowing hard as he regarded her with the same condescending lift of his brows that had once been turned on greener doctors. He'd never used that expression against her before, but this wasn't the same man that she'd once loved, even if he looked the same with his short, black hair and neatly trimmed beard. His stance also remained unchanged, for he stood straight with hands clasped behind his back, a thoughtful cast to his face, and for that moment, she almost believed that he _was_ the same man.

"You're just like the rest," he roughly concluded. "Unworthy of the gift that has been bestowed on us."

"This isn't a gift," she argued with a nervous shake of her head. "It's a goddamned curse."

"No!"

"Challus..." The soft sound of his name from her lips made him sigh in exasperation and grip the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Just like the rest. So insignificant." He released his nose and scoffed at the horrified expression on the woman's face as he lovingly placed a hand on the glass before him, his eyes admiring as he stared at his creations. "This is the future, Samantha. Look at them! They're brilliant, and so much more adaptable and stronger than us. They were meant to replace us." This was too disturbing by far, and Samantha had been convinced that nothing would ever startle her again—not after seeing her roommate bashing a bruised and bloody forehead against the wall while screaming about unification. Maybe the matter was worsened because she'd loved this man before the world went to hell, and for both of them to be reunited in this manner was cruel and troubling beyond the grime and gore that coated her boots and pants.

"You aren't trying to fight them?" she asked, confused.

"All will be made clear," Mercer promised. "Come!" He spun and extended a hand toward her, and despite her reservations, she reached for him. His hands still felt the same against her skin as he pulled her closer, right up against his side, where his arm locked around her hips. The gun quivered in her hand, and he told her that she didn't need it, but she refused to release it. This was not right. Being in the arms of a mad murderer wasn't right, but it felt so similar to how he'd once treated her. Maybe he was still in there somewhere...

"Put your hand here," he instructed, placing her palm against the glass, his on top of hers. "Can't you sense the power that they possess? You must embrace your own destruction, for your death will not be meaningless, Samantha. That I promise. Our deaths will have great significance." His hand felt so warm against hers, and she instinctively leaned into his touch, feeling his beard brush against the side of her face. It might as well have been eternity since she'd felt anything so human, and it was absolute heaven in this hell of a space ship.

"I'm scared," she confessed, not even bothering to tell him how crazy he sounded. What was the point? She was no saner than him, and she couldn't claim to be when she'd seen her dead mother only a few minutes ago. She didn't know if it was the influence of the marker, the infection, or maybe her brain's addled attempts to cope with her dire surroundings, but either way, Mercer's touch was real. No one could blame her for ignoring his ravings for the sake of comfort.

"There's no need to be scared," he whispered in her ear, deep voice resonating within her. "Only the weak fear the inevitable. It is our purpose to die and pave the way for a greater life form." His voice shook with fervor as Samantha wished to bury her face in the crook of his neck and never lift it again. She too sensed that life was coming to an end, but unlike him, she didn't want to see it coming. Let it stab her in the back when she wasn't looking rather than being forced to watch as one of those damned creatures tore her apart.

"We could find an escape pod," she weakly suggested, praying that he'd agreed with her.

"There are none left."

"What do you mean?" Frantic now, she stepped away from him, and he merely stood there staring at her, his eyes devoid of humanity, and making her wonder if perhaps he hadn't gone completely insane. "Did other people use them?" she continued, unsettled by the confident tone that he'd used to answer her.

"No," he dismissed. "I launched them."

_What the hell?_

She wanted to believe that Mercer was still the man she loved somewhere beneath this fanatical talk, but his latest response cracked her illusion, and the urge to scream was working its way up her throat. Why did her only hope need to be destroyed? At least she could have shared a last few human moments with a kind soul before death, but even that was taken from her, and she cursed the marker like she never had before. Somehow the artifact was responsible for this. She just knew it.

"It's destroyed you too," she softly stated, retreating a few more steps to put some distance between her and this stranger. She would have cried, except that there were no tears left—not after seeing her friends ripped to pieces while trying to hide in a locker room. There had been only one entrance, and once it was blocked by the enemy, they'd been slaughtered, leaving Samantha to scream at the computer monitor until her throat failed her.

"I saw you from the security bay," she droned on, unsure of why she was telling Mercer this. "I saw you, and I was so happy. I needed to find you, even though they told me that you'd lost your mind. I couldn't leave you! I couldn't lose you too, but I see that I already have, so I ignored your message for nothing." Her lower lip quivered as she checked her gun's energy level, trying to distract herself from the completely emotionless response that Mercer was giving her. He stood there, face dark in contemplation, and hands again behind his back. He was displeased about something, but she didn't know what could upset this foreign version of the man.

"You speak of things that you don't understand," he mused. "I haven't lost my mind; I've been enlightened, and as far as this message goes...I left you no message. I haven't seen you in days."

"I found the recording in your desk." For the first time, she noticed that his white research uniform was remarkably clean considering the chaos around them, and she absently wondered how he'd kept blood off of himself. "I know that you hate people in your office, but I couldn't find you anywhere, and security was trying to move everyone into another part of the ship. You weren't there, but you'd left me a recording telling me to leave the Ishimura because we'd never win. You also said that...that I should take the spare gun in your locker." Her eyes moved to the cutter in her hand before she allowed herself to look upward. Mercer stood with his back to her, his body facing the stasis tank with the largest of his two specimens.

"I made no such recording," he reiterated. "I would never tell you to leave. In fact, I want you to stay and witness my accomplishment. I've singlehandedly helped evolution take a major leap forward. The only question is whether or not your worthy to share in my triumph."

"Challus..."

"I knew that you were alive. Rodney told me before he...well, before he contributed to my study." Samantha's eyes grew wide, her mouth working to find saliva as she stared at the suspended creature before her.

"You don't mean...that isn't...? How could you do such a thing?!" Mercer shook his head and sighed, clearing his throat in a way that signaled an upcoming lecture.

"His fate is beside the point," he dismissed. "And don't interrupt, Samantha. You know how I hate that." She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and never open them again, willing his words to cease even as she focused on them with a sick fascination. "As I was saying, he told me that you were still alive and looking for me, and I'd hoped that you would find me. I knew that if I left the research recording somewhere, you might come to me. You were always brilliant, Samantha. You could still play a role in this, and there isn't anyone else with whom I'm willing to share my work."

"I came here to save you," Samantha protested. "Not to make monsters." The sharp wail of scratching metal suddenly sounded overhead, and she instinctively pointed her gun at the nearest air vent, waiting with dread for an attack. Muscles tense and eyes wide, the seconds ticked by with unbearable slowness, and her concentration was only interrupted by Mercer, who was gently laughing as he turned and looked at her.

"This room is secure," he assured her. "I can't have my work being interrupted before its completion." He began walking toward her, and Samantha raised the gun, pointing it at his chest.

"Please don't come any closer," she begged. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Ah, Samantha, you hold that gun like a child," he teased. "How many times have I told you that you weren't made for combat, but desk work?"

"A million," she answered, bittersweet memories bubbling to the surface. "You also used to shoo me out of the lab when a dangerous experiment was starting. You didn't want to see me hurt back then, but now you would gladly have me die." She shook her head in denial as Mercer's eyes became more imploring, their softness transforming him into the man that she'd loved—no, correction, whom she _did_ love. She'd seen the madness wax and wane in others before they were killed, and perhaps the same was true of Mercer. She hoped not, for she'd rather have him completely gone than shattered into pieces.

"Samantha," he began, lifting a hand toward her, but she swatted it away.

"No," she refused. "I won't help you. You...you're not who you once were, and I _will_ shoot you if you try to harm me." She didn't actually think that she could, but he seemed to believe her bluff, for he stopped advancing.

"Very well," he snorted, eyes again cold. "Go rush to your death. You had your chance to achieve greatness, but you've thrown it away like a coward. Run, Samantha. I have company coming, and he's going to meet my child." What the hell did that mean? Samantha decided that she'd be wiser to kill Mercer now and spare herself further heartbreak, but she froze with her finger resting against the trigger.

_Do it_, she commanded herself, half expecting to see Mercer fall, but he remained upright and seemingly oblivious to the danger threatening him. He was right: she was weak, and the thought left a chilling trail across her mind, the fact that she couldn't kill him resounding like a mantra behind her eyes. Mad or not, Mercer was human, and if she killed him, she might be utterly alone on this ship.

_Make us whole again. _

"Stop!" she ordered, desperate to remove the voice from her head.

"Soon," Mercer soothingly reassured his 'child', causing a tear to slide down Samantha's cheek. An insistent whisper was reaching for consciousness from the back of her mind, and yet he just stood there lovingly looking at a damn _thing_ like he'd once looked at her.

No. No. No. No. No.

Why had she taken a job on this doomed ship? She could have stayed home and worked in a nice, comfortable lab with trees outside the windows, but she'd met Mercer, and with a gentle suggestion, he'd singlehandedly convinced her to take a post on his research team. At the time, she'd been flattered by his offer, and after he'd invited her to dinner, that had sealed the deal.

"I would have followed you to the ends of the universe," she whispered for her own ears alone, and then she ran as fast as she could, leaving behind what could very well be the last living person that she'd ever see. She wanted to look back, but she wouldn't allow herself to do so lest the pain rip what was left of her mind in two.

_Challus_.

She willed herself not to cry as she heard the metal doors slide shut behind her. Again, she was plunged into a world where survival was fleeting, and every creak was a harbinger of death. Flighty feet tread softly as lights flickered overhead, the corridor walls smeared with blood, and the floor covered with scrawled messages. The setting had been terrifying before, but it was more so now, for of all the cruelties that Samantha had endured, being spurned by the person whose possible survival had driven her was nearly unbearable. She would find a secure room and rest, and that was the furthest that she planned. There was no point in thinking about the future when the world was a graveyard.

**************

"I would have followed you to the ends of the universe."

Mercer barely heard Samantha as he stared at the advent of a new order, but he did see her leave. He watched her reflection in the glass before him, and so he saw her dejected posture and how she fled the room as if pursued by a demon. She had failed his expectations, and he would not forgive her for that, but somewhere, something was telling him that _he'd_ failed _her_.

Preposterous!

What were these strange, doubting thoughts that occasionally cropped up to haunt him? He couldn't identify their source, and he didn't understand why the presence of another human—just another body to be transformed by the wondrous life form that they'd uncovered—had sparked to life such odd thoughts. There was nothing to doubt, and he'd never even considered the possibility until now. If the female wouldn't help him, he would do this on his own. He didn't need her or anyone for that matter, and once his work was complete, he'd be free to join the unification.

_Make us whole again._

"I'll join you soon," he promised the unseen force. He had felt it since the Marker had been brought aboard, and while it had first frightened him, he now understood that the calling was a blessing. Others resisted it and went mad, but he accepted the divine messages, and in doing so, he'd been given a mission, or rather, the mission had revealed itself once his vision broadened. The opportunity had been there since the start, when he'd begun fiddling with the organic growths found throughout the ship, and it had been a wonder even then. Samantha had helped him, and she'd too been amazed, but she was backing out at the most critical stage.

They all did!

Mercer had watched his comrades abandon the work one by one, each either dying or fleeing in horror, some even calling him crazy. Crazy? He would show them who was crazy! They were fools, and Samantha along with them if she wanted to die cowering in some dark corner, afraid of even her own shadow. Mercer spun and shook his head as he strolled toward the door through which Samantha had recently fled. He would wait and release his creation for the newest human intruders to handle, and that would be the ultimate test of his success.

_What was that? _

Mercer leaned down and lifted a small, sparkling object from the floor. It was a silver earring shaped like a triangle, and he recognized it instantly, for Samantha had always worn a similar set of jewelry. Hadn't he bought it for her? Despite the logical insistence that he dispose of the trinket, he held it and ran a finger over its surface, transfixed by its history, and disgusted with its emotional suggestions. Human attachment had no place in the new order, for everyone would be joined together in a family that needed no emotional bonds to function.

_Get rid of it._

But Mercer hesitated before flinging the earring aside, and a strange urge stirred within his chest. For a moment, he looked at the creature in the next room and almost cringed, a feeling of revolted realization sweeping over his mind in a brief moment of clarity. What the hell was going on? Aghast, he jerked backwards, confused by the conflicting thoughts and emotions assaulting him, and he responded in the only way that he could: focus. Where was the familiar voice and fervor that had driven his cause? He searched and found it lurking behind his insanely idiotic urge to find Samantha, and once he had it within his grasp, he begged it to overtake him.

The mission...the unity...

"Yes," Mercer breathed, calm resettling over him. He would fight the madness that sometimes surfaced, for no human could manipulate him into believing the lies of humanity that he'd been fed for so long. Scientific ethics? What a laugh.

He heard another door open, and he readied himself for releasing his child. It was time, and he had to fight to keep from pressing the release button as a human male stepped into the room containing the stasis chambers. He would speak with this engineer before awakening death, for maybe this one would understand the larger picture, or maybe he would be like the rest and run in denial. Mercer's fingers moved toward a control panel as he swelled with pride and anticipation. Somewhere, in the corner of the room, a small, silver earring was forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2: Being Alone

Chapter 2: Being Alone

_"This is Doctor Challus Mercer of the Ishimura's research division, office 13 on the medical deck. This may be my last recording, and if anyone finds it, please deliver it to Samantha Carter. I don't know how many of us are left in here, but five of my colleagues are leaving for security as I speak. I myself can no longer ignore security's warnings, but I am waiting for a few lab tests to finish before joining the others. I cannot simply abandon my work—not when the results are so astounding! Whatever was discovered on Aegis 7 is beyond amazing, and to simply eradicate it is unthinkable. I am bringing my work to the hold where I am to meet Samantha. _

_Samantha...I know that you are going to be angry with me, but I am taking a detour to medical storage to secure a sample of the mutations that we've been working on. If you should come looking for me, that is where I am, and then I am coming to meet you; although I'm hoping that you stay put for once. This deck is about to be locked down, and if you get stuck inside, the tram won't be able to take you to security. _

_Please stay safe, and get off of this ship as soon as possible. Whatever is happening here is larger than our abilities to stop, and the voices...I can hear them calling me, telling me to do things that I don't understand...please just go. There's an extra gun in my locker, and I'm leaving it in case you should need it. If you can't find me, don't keep looking. Just get yourself to safety."_

Samantha held the recording in her hands and wondered how long Mercer had retained his sanity after making it. His voice sounded so concerned at the end, although he had never been a man to easily express himself. He'd always been a bit stern and arrogant, considering common displays of emotion beneath him, but that changed whenever he made a breakthrough in his work. Samantha smiled as she recalled one incident where he'd spilled coffee all over himself in excitement, having jumped up from the table so quickly that he nearly overturned it.

"He's gone now," she stated, trying to convince herself that there was nothing left of Challus within that mockingly similar shell of a body. With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall and eyed the grimy storage room in which she was hiding. The necromorphs couldn't open doors given their lack of hands, but she'd jammed the electronic lock just to be safe, her paranoia more acute than she'd have liked. At least there were no large air vents in this makeshift bunker, meaning that she felt fairly safe. Sometimes she heard something bang against the other side of the door, but otherwise her prison was quiet.

_How much longer can I last?_

She looked at the metal lockers around her and the large work bench with its glowing controls. The overhead lighting was dim, but that wasn't a surprise, for some of the wires had probably been damaged given the amount of combat that had rocked the ship only days ago. Now everyone was gone, as the corpse across from her was testament to. The poor man was slumped against the opposite wall, the front of his uniform bloodstained from a deep puncture wound in his chest. He'd probably crawled in here to bleed to death rather than laying outside to become infected, and now he was cold and unmoving, dark hair dangling dejectedly in his face. He would never breath again, but with his natural pose and lack of mutilation, Samantha could almost pretend that he was still living in the obscurity of the room's light, and even an illusion was better than solitude.

"Have you seen anyone else?" she asked.

Silence.

"Me neither," she answered herself, knowing how ridiculous she sounded and not giving a damn. "I tried going to security, and there were a bunch of survivors up there, but I had to come back. You see, there was a man that was very dear to me, and I wanted to know if he was alive. He always cared about his work more than safety, so I knew that he might stick around despite the warnings. He's always been like that. He's..." Samantha sighed and eased her head back against the wall. "Maybe it's better that he's gone crazy, because he's a clean freak. If he had to deal with this mess..." She barked a bitter laugh and felt tears building around her eyes. "What about you? Why are you still here?"

The corpse just stared at her, glassy eyes regarding her in an expressionless manner that still felt more human than the red eyes of the monsters outside. Samantha stared back and noted that the man had been attractive in life, and maybe she'd seen him once or twice around the lab. Hadn't he been with maintenance?

"That's too bad," she told him. "I'm sorry that you'll never see your family again. I have a family too, you know, but at least they're not here. At least they'll never have to see what becomes of me once I'm dead..." _Don't cry_. She tried not to, but the tears were already falling, and her throat constricted with emotion. "I wish that you would talk to me," she told the corpse. "I just wish that someone was here to keep me company. I don't...I don't want to die alone. Say something!" Her shout reverberated off of the walls with desperate heat as she cried, the corpse still unmoving. In that moment, she envied the dead, for their suffering was over, and hers was being prolonged. Perhaps Mercer was right and she should just accept her fate. Even if she escaped the ship, she too heard the voices, and how much longer did she have before she lost her mind like the rest?

"So what are you working on?" she asked the empty the room, recalling one of her first conversations with Mercer. He had staunchly told her to mind her own business and claimed that she wouldn't understand his research even if he did deem her worthy. That had changed once she'd rudely forced the subject and slapped him in the face with her credentials.

"I don't want to be alone," Samantha continued, finding little solace in her own voice. At least Mercer spoke to her. Maybe she should...No, it was a bad idea, but he _was_ human. With shaking feet, she stood and moved toward the door, uncertain of what she was doing, but knowing that it couldn't be any worse than her other options.

*************

What was that?

Samantha froze as an enraged cry reached her ears, the sound echoing down the hallway as she struggled to remain calm. The gun in her hand was reassuringly cold against her palms as she pointed it in every which direction, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound that she'd heard. Perhaps it was some distance away, and so she kept moving, the hall unbearably hot since climate control had malfunctioned in this section of the medical wing. She'd been here before, and killed a slasher in the process, but not before it had nearly sliced off her head. Some of the infected could move much faster than she'd expected.

"Challus?" she called as a metal door slid open. If he was anywhere, it would probably be his office, and so she would go there first. She knew the way like the back of her hand, and through hallways painted with violence and futile pleas for help, she found herself gently humming to keep her mind off of the carnage. There were actually very few bodies to haunt her vision, but that was no consolation, for it meant that they'd probably been infected and were now roaming the halls, looking for prey.

Her hand rested against the cold metal of a door, and she slowly swiped her id card through the panel next to it. With a soft hiss, the door began opening, revealing a small, private lab with a desk, laden shelves, and a cot in the corner. Mercer had added the cot for those busy days when he worked record hours and refused to leave the lab unless necessary. Samantha had found him asleep here more than once, but he wasn't here now, and the most that she could hope for was some extra ammo. She opened his desk and rifled through the drawers only to find files, pens, and a box of instant coffee.

"Damn!" She slammed the drawers shut and stared at the shelves opposite her. Human heads floated in jars, a pile of books on the floor suggesting that the once prized volumes had been hastily discarded for the macabre display—and that despite the fact that each book referenced Mercer's research by name. Samantha gazed at the heads and realized that judging by their scarred and elongated appearance, they had come from necromorphs, and the realization made her shudder as she walked closer. She advanced while carefully checking the room for signs of life, but only her breathe and the click of boots broke the silence, and even those minor signs of life made her fear that a necromorph might find her.

"Oh my god," she breathed, expertly examining the heads and quickly backing away when she recognized some of the faces. She nervously settled herself on Mercer's cot and placed the gun beside her, arms wrapping around her knees as she drew them to her chest. She absently realized that her pants smelled of sweat and blood, but that was the least of her worries as she realized how tired she was. Perhaps it was the cot with its soft blanket that beckoned her, or maybe her adrenaline was wearing off, but either way, she needed to sleep at some point. She hadn't done more than nap for the last few days, and when she did manage to sleep, the slightest noise would wake her. She couldn't keep pushing herself like this or fatigue would cost her in the future.

_Is it safe here?_

The room was fairly secure, lacking air vents large enough for necromorphs as it did, and with a sealed door. Part of her wondered if it wouldn't be better to simply shoot herself and never wake up, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to act. She merely laid down and let messy, blond hair fall across a comforting pillow, eyelids almost instantly sagging over tired, brown irises. The running and fighting was simply too much. This entire place was too much. Perhaps she'd wake up and find herself free from the nightmare, but for now, all she wanted was to rest her weary limbs.

Only an hour or so, she promised herself. Then it would be time to move again.

**********

It was most impressive that the human had survived. If only the entire race were so tenacious...oh well. The time for redemption was gone, and in the meantime, Mercer had to decide what to do about the man who would thwart the new order if allowed. No, he corrected himself, there was no chance of survival. All of them would die, no matter how brave or resourceful. Besides, his child was still out there, roaming the halls and searching for prey, and since he controlled the doors on medical bay, he could ensure victory for evolution.

In the meantime, he wanted to analyze the data that his computer had recorded during the recent fight. His child had performed splendidly, even if its limbs had been shot off several times, for dismemberment was no weapon against such a being. The regeneration had been brilliant! Mercer smiled with pride as he opened the door to his office and stepped inside, his gait swift and sure as he moved toward his desk.

"To think how limited I was with my own kind," he mused aloud. "We never dreamed of what existed out here! We..." His ranting trailed off when he noticed the woman on his cot, her face obscured by the blanket that she'd sloppily wrapped around herself. It really wasn't cold in here, but perhaps she sought comfort in warmth since humans were apt to return to childish notions when scared.

_Why is she here?_ Mercer walked closer and noted that even in sleep, Samantha's face contorted with stress, signaling a nightmare, and he mindlessly reached out and removed the blanket, revealing her slender form in its snug outfit. He had thought that she'd be dead by now—either that, or running as far away from him as possible—but perhaps fate had something else in store. He could imagine her on a table, strapped down and brown eyes wide in fright as a drill neared the back of her skull. She would be greater than his first child—greater than any of them if she had survived this long as a weakling human. His mind feverishly raced at the possibility of another experiment, but suddenly the sleeping woman's lower lip began trembling.

"Challus..."

He stepped away, visage overcast with dark thoughts as he dropped the blanket to the floor and tried to clear his head. She had never sounded so frightened when saying his name before, and the fact that it unnerved him made him wary. She was just another body to be transformed, and what was she doing here anyway? Hysteria should have made her seek survival above all else, for that was how instinct was designed, and the engineer in the other room was proof of that. Pressure had made the man more violent and resourceful, and Mercer would have assumed the same for Samantha, but here she was, sleeping on his cot and calling his name. It suggested that her attachment to him was greater than the stress, but...that just wasn't...it didn't make sense..._she came back for you_.

Something clicked behind his dark eyes, and he swallowed nervously, recalling her words from earlier. He saw himself sitting at a desk, a recorder in his hands as he delivered what he believed to be his last words aboard the Ishimura. A computer streamed data in front of him, and he felt worried, but not for himself. There was someone else on his mind: Samantha? He tried to understand the brief memory, but it fled his grasp, and he was left feeling hollow, part of him aware that something was not quite right. He had warned a woman to leave, and he had feared for her life, praying that she would be smart enough to not search for him.

_Oh_.

Mercer nearly stumbled as he gripped his head and fell to his knees, heart hammering and a headache growing stronger by the second. He had told Samantha to leave, but how could he have been so foolish? People weren't allowed to escape. Human survival was doomed.

_Make us whole again._

"I'm trying," he hissed, reordering his thoughts. "Once my research is done, I'll become one with the others. It is the last step of my existence, and I will not run. I won't..." He had told her to leave, and she'd come back for him. The thought overrode his other senses as he wondered what it meant. He hadn't always been enlightened, so he might have wished her to leave at one point, and it wasn't that his memories were gone, but sometimes his mission so consumed him that he forgot. Forgot what? That there was a time when his own existence and humanity had been more important to him than the unity?

"Challus?" He looked up to find _her_ staring at him, concern stamped all over her face.

"Samantha," he said, sounding dazed.

"You're bleeding," she observed, moving to the floor to remove his hands from his head. Only then did he realize that his nails had bitten into his skin, causing blood to dot his forehead in tiny, red lines. She examined them, eyes darting to his face in an attempt to discern his current state. "If you try anything..."

"I won't," he stated, leaning into the warmth of her hands as she wiped away his blood. "There's no need to kill you. Death will come on its own." She said nothing, but kneeled before him, expression searching as she touched his cheek.

"I shouldn't be near you," she softly said, sounding regretful. "But right now, you seem...you almost seem like you used to be. Are you still in there somewhere?" He shied away from her and felt the voice calling him, reminding him that he had work to do, but he wasn't ready to stand yet.

"Why don't you give up?" he asked her. "Don't you hear destiny calling you?"

"The voices...?" She nervously looked away, and he nodded. "Sometimes. I think that the marker causes madness. I watched some of the people on medical before the outbreak, and they went through a similar experience before dying. Maybe it's some kind of weapon to disarm people and make them easier to kill. I don't know, but...I think it's too late for us."

"That's the point," Mercer said, sounding remarkably sane as he leaned forward and gripped her face, fingers tracing a familiar path across her skin. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't release her. She had to understand! He wouldn't be told that his work was pointless or the result of manipulation, because it was so much more than that. Why was she so resistant to seeing the truth? If she would understand, then she could come with him to complete the project, and she could stay. _With him_. "We can't win, Samantha. That's what the voice is telling us. It's trying to make acceptance easier and faster."

"You're hurting me," she complained, tugging against him.

"It isn't angry, and you would know that if you listened. It is soft, beckoning, asking us to join in the unification. It doesn't want us to be afraid, and we won't really die, so there's nothing to fear. We'll be reborn!

"Is this how you're coping with the situation?" Samantha asked, aghast, pausing in her struggle against him. "I wish that I could just go crazy like you. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad then." He released her when he saw how his fingers were digging into her soft flesh, and she immediately stood to distance herself from him. She moved to the cot to retrieve her gun, and then, weapon in hand, she sat down and prepared to wallow in misery, feeling utterly alone despite the man in the room. He regarded her with sharp, dark eyes, face emotionless.

"You'll never believe me," he concluded.

"Maybe, if I live long enough, I'll completely lose it like you have," she sighed. "Then I might believe, but not before then..."

"I'm not crazy," Mercer again told her. "And it's offensive that you keep saying such nonsense. I'm right here." She kept her eyes focused on the floor, which annoyed Mercer greatly. Being ignored had irritated him throughout his life, and now, when he so desperately wanted her to see as he did, he couldn't restrain his anger. He needed someone to understand. "Look at me!" he yelled, causing her to jump in surprise. "I'm. Right. Here," he ground out. _I'm not crazy. This is reality. This is how things have to be. There is no hope for us. No hope, no hope..._

_"I would have followed you to the ends of the universe."_

"Samantha, I'm right here," he repeated with less vehemence. Now she was crying, and he remembered a time when she had broken an expensive centrifuge. She had been crying when he came into the lab, seeing her babble on about it being an accident and how she hadn't meant to destroy the experiment. "I hate when you cry," he shared, sounding forlorn as he stood and shook his head. For a moment, his posture sagged, face dejected, but then he straightened and glared at the wall in concentration.

"I _will_ make you accept this," he decided. "Then you will join me, and we can complete this together. You hate being alone, I know, but don't worry. You won't be alone much longer. I see now that it was cruel and irresponsible of me to send you away before. Go meet my child, and see the future. Then you will come to me. You always end up coming back to me." _Even when I ignored you for days during an experiment, or when you saw other women receiving presents while I gave you nothing but professional advice and advancement, you came back._ He spun on his heels and walked toward the door, mind foggy as he slid his id card under a scanner.

_She will stay with me._

_She isn't worthy. _

_I want her to stay._

He frowned and stopped moving when he heard her sobs subside and her voice rise.

"I wish that you hadn't left me alone like this," she confessed. "It would have been easier to find a corpse." He didn't understand what she meant as he left her crying in that room, gun cradled in her arms, and his blood smeared across her fingers.


	3. Chapter 3: Buried Beneath the Surface

Chapter 3: Buried Beneath the Surface

"Don't scream," Samantha whispered to herself. She raised her gun and aimed at the slasher running toward her, its bladed limbs rising in preparation of a strike, and its awkward, ambling gait gaining speed as it charged. The woman who stood so bravely with a gun might have been a poor shot, but even she couldn't miss the creature at such close range, and as she pulled the trigger to send a blast of energy into the monster, she thanked whatever powers might be that Mercer had upgraded this weapon before it needed used. Now she aimed again as the slasher hissed in rage, its head rearing upward as it clawed its way across the floor, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

"Bastard," she coldly commented as she fired into its body, unsuccessfully aiming at its arms. She'd been told to fire at the limbs rather than the torso, which went against her better judgement, but she thought it best not to question the advice. So she fired blast after blast until she managed to remove the arms, and finally the creature ceased its jerking movements. It looked so broken and sad lying on the floor like that, and Samantha briefly contemplated the very human looking blood that was spreading across the floor beneath it.

_I've been on my own for too long_, she decided, for it couldn't be healthy to feel so numb and indifferent after shooting something part. At first, she'd felt frightened and angry toward the necromorphs, but that had been in the beginning, and while the fear remained, the anger was almost gone. Now she didn't care whether they lived or died so long as she was still running, and sometimes she didn't even care about that. It reminded her of the woman that she'd encountered a day or so ago—a pretty woman with a faded security patch on her shoulder, a severed head in her hands, and a depth of sorrow so intense that she'd simply stood in a corridor crying as one of those disgusting, mutated babies attacked her. The woman had merely sat down as if tired when her chest was torn open, tears falling, but resistance nonexistent.

What in the name of hell had finally pushed someone that far? Samantha wanted to know if she was heading in that direction, for it was hard to gauge her own sanity in this environment. The only time that she felt particularly sane was when Mercer was around, and that was because she had someone for comparison. At least she knew that this whole mess was a horrendous catastrophe—not some kind of marvelous leap forward—and the necromorphs were monsters, not saviors or agents of evolution. They simply claimed what wasn't theirs, and fed from the dead. Without the dead, they were nothing, and so they were no better than leeches sucking mankind's energy dry.

Samantha was about to wander off when she heard something heavy moving nearby, and damn but the thing sounded large. Stepping over the dead slasher at her feet, she leaned her head toward a small air vent and listened, the sound growing louder as she tried to peer through fine, metal grating into the next room. Whatever it was, it was in there, and she caught a glimpse of glowing, crimson eyes and black skin before she stepped away, quickly deciding that keeping her distance would be for the best.

_We should have never taken the Marker. _

She kept moving down the hallway, the lumbering sound of the nearby creature keeping pace with her. Did it know that she was here? The thought made her shudder as she reached a small flight of stairs that she knew would lead her to an observation desk, which was not her idea of a wise move, but she couldn't go back. She'd been wandering in circles for days since she avoided unfamiliar areas—that, and any unusual sounds sent her down another corridor whether or not she had already gone in that direction. She needed to reach another deck and either look for help or an escape pod, but that would mean leaving behind the only person that she knew for certain still lived. To lose him didn't even bear thinking, for as long as he was alive, there would be someone here with her, and she didn't think that she could overcome despair if that was taken from her.

_He hates when I cry_.

With a sigh, Samantha stepped through a door and into an observation room that overlooked a large lab now littered with corpses and former patients, but it wasn't the rampant death that drew her eyes. No, there was something coming toward her at an incredible speed, moving much faster than a slasher could, which sent a convulsion of terrified shivers down her spine.

"Shit!" she yelped, gasping in shock as a heavy hand slammed into protective glass, the observation window's entire frame shuddering with the force. Then she found herself face-to-face with the creature that she knew to be her former coworker turned experiment, and it was as hideous as she remembered. With an odd snapping of its fanged jaw, it stared at her for a few seconds of peace wherein she was sure her heart would break free from her ribcage with the force of its pounding.

The thing's breath fogged the glass as it retreated backward only to relaunch itself into the window, which although taking a beating, did not break. It merely shook and left Samantha standing with mouth agape, her feet frozen as she contemplated the power of the thing before her. It was unlike anything that she had ever seen before, for although the monster shared the viciousness of its relatives, it would pause as if thinking about its situation before attacking, trying different modes of hitting the glass to test effectiveness. The red eyes—there was almost something intelligent behind the hungry, glazed stare, but pain did not deter the creature, for even as blackened skin cracked and bled to leave crimson patterns across the glass, the beatings did not cease.

"Remarkable, isn't it?"

Samantha again jumped, nearly shooting Mercer as he stepped out of a shadowed corner with a satisfied expression.

"Now do you see?" he asked. "How could we hope to stand against something of this magnitude?" Samantha lowered her weapon and turned her eyes back to the rampaging beast, which had been joined by several slashers, the lesser necromorphs moving aside as if deferring to it. "I designed him to lead," Mercer continued. "I did all that I could to maintain some semblance of cognitive abilities, such as problem solving, but my child's still connected to the hive mind."

"The what?" Samantha asked.

"They're like ants," Mercer explained. "There's a ruler that controls the entire kingdom and gives orders. These are merely the workers who serve the greater will, but our friend Rodney has become a bit more willful than the others. He performs his duty with an intelligence that they lack. So do you understand now? Or would you like to fight my child?" As if it recognized its status as a conversation topic, the creature suddenly charged the windows again and slammed its head against the glass, blood flecks spraying across the breadth of its forehead from self-injury as it did so.

"Shhhhh," Mercer soothed. "We can't join you yet, and you should be more polite. This is your mother." Samantha grimaced and fidgeted with her gun's trigger.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Your research into using accelerated cell growth to make patches of infected flesh for convenient study provided the sample that I implanted in Rodney's brain. I may have nurtured this being, but you made its existence possible."

"That wasn't my intention," Samantha clarified, repulsed by the thought of having helped produce a killing machine.

"I know," Mercer stated. "But aren't you even the least bit proud of what you see before you? You had a hand in all of this..." He stepped closer and drew her into his arms, keeping her back against his chest so that she could look on the mutated humans prowling the other room. "Now that you know how futile fighting is, stay and help complete the work. Watch as our child destroys the human who would prevent unity!" It was official, she decided, the world was falling apart if she was thinking about staying with this man. But if she left, what was out there waiting for her? At least Mercer was still human, and if she could die being held like this, maybe losing her sanity was worth the reward.

_Make us whole, Samantha. Don't deny your love_.

She leaned into Mercer's arms and allowed the voice to envelope her entire being. Was this why Mercer had caved? She felt so calm right now, as if she was surrounded by friendly people, all of whom were relaxing and telling her to do the same. These corpses weren't tragic emblems of pain. They were waiting for rebirth, as Mercer had said, and they wanted her to join them.

_But I don't want to join them_, she reasoned. O_nly him_.

_"And you can have him,"_ a voice whispered.

"That's it, Samantha" Mercer encouraged. "We could be like we once were. I'm so glad that you came back to finish what we started." He was smiling. By the stars, the sick, twisted man was actually smiling, and Samantha almost smiled with him, but a warning pulled her back from the edge. These arms, his arms, promised death and destruction. He would murder the other survivors if he could.

"Do you remember when you asked me into your office for the first time?" she asked. "You were determined to go over two whole reports even though it was almost midnight."

"I remember," Mercer spoke into her hair.

"We didn't even finish one, because you couldn't keep your eyes off of my legs." Images of intertwined bodies entered her mind as she recalled what they'd done on his desk, and the warmth of the memory chased away the voice in her head. Yes, she had to remember what had been real and worth living for, or else she would go mad. Memories of what made humanity special to her could beat back the need to unify, and maybe, if he remembered too...

"You're not ready yet then," he told her, sounding disappointed rather than angry, which surprised her. "But you'll come back again and again, because there's nowhere else to go."

"No," Samantha objected. "I _want_ to stay with you." She could reach him if she was lucky, and the hope made her turn and look up into his face, where she could almost see the conflict behind his glazed expression. "Maybe you could hold me for a while," she suggested. "Like you used to do after a long day at lab. Don't you remember?" He paused before nodding, her arms wrapping around him in the process.

"I..." He fumbled for words, clearly confused by some unknown emotion as she leaned into him.

"They can't hold one another, Challus," she said, trying to win him back. "They don't have soft hands like this, and they can't fit together with their elongated bodies. Please, Challus, I need this." He raised hands and wound them around her, his face pressing into her hair.

"Samantha," he suddenly sighed. "I'm so sorry, for everything."

"It's okay," she assured him, crying into his shirt. "What happened isn't your fault."

"I should have come straight to security," he lamented, and she smiled through her tears as he slowly molded into the man she knew.

"You've always been stubborn," she said with a forced laugh. "But you're here now, and so am I." They stood like that for some time, just holding one another and listening to the sound of death, but it wasn't long before he bent his mouth toward her ear and gently kissed her there. Seconds later, he released her and leaned against the wall, staring at his own hands in shock. "What's wrong?" she asked, scared by his sudden change.

"I don't...Samantha?" His head tilted to the side, and he closed his eyes, an oddly detached expression settling over his face.

"No!" Samantha screamed, throwing her gun into the wall. "Why?"

"Why anything, dear?" Mercer questioned, straightening and rearranging his clothing as if he were sharing coffee with her before work. "We are together again, and we never have to part."

"Come with me," she urged. "You're in there somewhere."

"No, listen to me," he sternly countered. "If we go, we will lose one another. That's what they want to prevent, but humanity, with all its emphasis on life and death, teaches us that if one person dies, they are lost to the rest of us. Unification, Samantha—that's what this is about. It's an entire paradigm shift, and the new order knows that life and death are not separate, but joined. If we stay, we will join the others and be together forever. I will not lose you. In fact, now I understand that I couldn't if I tried." The motive behind his reasoning almost broke her heart as she retrieved her gun.

"Thank you," she told him, but she didn't even know if he was listening as he cast his attention on the nearby necromorphs. "Even a few minutes was enough."

"Are you staying?" he pressed, eyes almost yearning as she walked toward the door.

"Not until I fight a little longer."

"Then you've learned nothing," Mercer scoffed.

"Maybe, but I've been reminded of why living is worthwhile, and it's because of you. I'll be back when I find a way to get us out of here. Stay alive." He wanted her to die, and he was the only thing that kept her alive. With a nod toward the dark humor of life, Samantha hurried toward the tram, hoping that Mercer would preserve his own life for a while longer. If she found an escape, she would retrieve and force him to join her, perhaps pulling him along with memories, and if they were truly trapped, she would return and stay with him until the end. It wasn't much, but it was all she had.


	4. Chapter 4: Letting Go

Chapter 4: Letting Go

There, down the hall with a back turned toward her. Samantha couldn't believe her eyes.

"Mom?" she called, and the figure spun, revealing familiar blond curls and a lightly wrinkled, kind face. The woman smiled and waved, clearly excited to see her daughter.

"Hello, dear. How have you been?"

"There's no time, mom," Samantha hurriedly interjected, running toward the figure. "We need to get out of here. Challus is here too. I'm just looking for a way off of the ship, and then we'll take you with us." Part of realized that her mother was not present, for it was impossible, and why, if this was real, was the older woman wearing her painting smock? The smile was one of ignorance, as if the blood and gore didn't exist, and that more than anything made Samantha uneasily delay her steps as she saw a necromorph appear behind her mother.

"Mom!" she screamed, raising her gun, conflicted over using precious ammo to defend a figment of her imagination.

"Love, I'm perfectly real," her mother chided. "Now hurry and..." Samantha fired several rounds and killed the necromorph, watching it collapse with a few twitches as her mother stared at the fallen creature. "When did you become so violent?" The woman shook her head and beckoned Samantha to follow her. "Come along, and don't be slow. You can make us whole again if you listen closely."

"Whole again?" Samantha pointed her gun at her mother while a strange urge to comply washed over her. Yes, unification was the right course of action, and after being alone for so long, caving would feel so wonderful. There were no escape pods left, so why fight it? "No!" Samantha yelled, leaning against the wall and being reminded of Mercer. "You're not real. You're not my mother."

"That's a very ungrateful thing to say, and after I've come all this way to see you."

"It's not real," Samantha breathed, and in an impulsive spurt of determination, she lifted her gun and fired a single shot at her mother. With a gasp, the figure's eyes widened before its middle was torn apart by the blast, crimson spreading across clothing as it stumbled backward and into the wall.

"What the hell?!" her mother demanded in a decidedly masculine voice that confused Samantha. The vision wavered, paint-splattered smock shifting into a gray personnel uniform, and suddenly her mother was gone—replaced by a young man whose body was only just losing its warmth. His eyes were wide, begging an explanation as he slid against the wall, joining the dead necromorph on the floor.

"Oh my god," Samantha breathed, horrified by what she'd done as she rushed over to the fresh corpse. She touched the flesh to find that the body was real, but while it wasn't her mother, it most certainly was a poor man in a mining suit, and she'd killed him. _It wasn't my fault. I didn't know._ Samantha opened her lungs and yelled a desperate, tormented cry as she slammed fists into the floor, her knuckles cracking under the force and wetting her gloves with blood. She had finally found someone else—someone who had likely been as desperate as herself and overjoyed to find another person—and she'd murdered him.

_I'm losing it._

With dawning realization, Samantha wondered if she appeared as crazy as Mercer did to others. Maybe her mind was already gone but she couldn't admit it yet, and in such a state, was escaping even a wise idea? She might kill others, or never recover, meaning that she'd spend the rest of her life wasting away in an institution and being monitored. Maybe she'd even been turned into a lab subject because of her exposure to the necromorph virus. Perhaps she was infected after all, and that made her no better than a walking corpse waiting for her number to be called.

"What difference does it make?" she asked herself. She'd looked everywhere imaginable, but no escape pods remained, and all mining vehicles had been destroyed. At this point, maybe she was too far gone to save herself anyway, and if she couldn't trust her own sanity, she doubted that she could help Mercer. Considering how quickly she was going downhill, it would be a wonder if he could even hold a coherent conversation by now.

"Forgive me," she begged the corpse, staring at its slack jaw, and growing angry when she realized that the necromorph was twitching against the man's leg. She viciously kicked the monster away, disgusted that it should touch the unfortunate soul that she'd destroyed, and only then did she realize that she was crying. There was no light in this place, none at all, and she could feel the call for unity penetrating her thoughts.

_Reach for a memory_, she instructed herself. Even if she couldn't escape this place, she was determined not to die as a raving lunatic. She would meet death with some shred of dignity, and maybe even a touch of bravery if she could manage it, meaning that she needed to hold the pieces of her mind together. At least then she could properly look after Mercer until they ran out of stamina to fight. Yes, she needed to think of him as well as herself, for without her, he would completely succumb. She needed to focus on a strong memory to get her out of this room and back to him, and then she could...have company until death? Dieing alone did not appeal to her.

_"Samantha, I don't know if you've been told, but there's a function coming up this weekend."_ Yes, this was the perfect memory to grasp, and she almost smiled as she recalled how her heart had fluttered when Mercer had broached the subject of a formal evening out. _"I'm expected to take someone, and I was wondering if you're free." _

"I'd love to go. What's the dress code?" she spoke aloud.

_"Black and white, formal. I'll pick you up around six on Saturday. Does that work for you?" He looked confident, but she could tell that he was a bit nervous by the way that he kept fidgeting with his favorite blue pen. _

_ "I can't wait to see what you look like out of a lab coat," she joked, trying to lighten his mood. "Six is fine, and I expect there to be no shop talk in the car." He smiled at her, and she decided then and there that perhaps he wasn't as stingy as she sometimes thought. He could be kind and considerate when he wanted, and sometimes, as of late, she'd catch him staring at her while she worked. Perhaps her efforts at getting his attention were working, and nothing had ever made her happier. Six o'clock. She couldn't wait. _

**************

His child was gone, but how could that be? Mercer paced his office and turned the matter over and over, his mind baffled by the ability of one human to defy the whirlwind of biological power that engulfed the Ishimura. Humans were weaker, so a mere man should not have been capable of outwitting and destroying such a creation as the one that Mercer had fathered. Yet the tables had turned, and in an unforeseen victory, Isaac Clark had frozen a masterpiece of bio-engineering. Now his child was trapped, and Mercer was left to wonder how and why fate had played a trick on him.

_Perhaps I underestimated my own race. _

He paused and fumbled for the ID card in his pocket, his ego deflated by recent events. The voices still called him, and there was nothing else left now that his work had been undone. If humans were worthy of survival, and if there was hope that they could overcome these circumstances, did that mean that he'd been misguided this entire time? Mercer recalled a moment where he'd thought of escaping with the others and advising the government to blast the entire ship into dust, but that seemed so long ago. He'd been hopeful that the human race could win at that point, but after seeing how brutality powerful and efficient the necromorph virus was, he'd...

Mercer frowned and swiped his card to enter the hallway beyond. What if he'd been wrong? What if Samantha was right and the voices were a device to disarm them? No, it couldn't be! He'd simply been too weak to accomplish his goals—too arrogant to understand that the virus needed no aid in developing. It was self-sufficient, and he, in his human pride, had wanted to best the hive and prove that he was a master of intellect and science if not a biological wonder. He had wanted to prove that there was some worth to himself, even as he'd accepted his own inevitable replacement in the universe. That made him no better than the others, and so there was only one more thing to do: die and become one with his betters.

_Or wait for Samantha to come back_, a small part of him whispered. _You could leave together_.

"I can't," Mercer said, voice echoing in an empty corridor of rust-colored metal. "She won't come back. I spurned her, and if she's smart, she'll stay away." Oh, how he hoped that she'd escaped this place. He loathed the idea of being the cause of her destruction, especially since she'd seen through the lies and understood that humanity should not just surrender. This man who roamed the halls in pursuit of salvation—Isaac—he too fought, and Mercer admired that strength. Hope was such a fleeting entity, but he grasped for it, trying to find a reason to live, even though he wasn't quite sure why he should care.

"I don't care," he violently affirmed. "I was the failure, not my creation!" With renewed fervor, he went to seek his death, accepting that he deserved it as he strode forward. He would reach for death and become one with the others, never to be alone or troubled again. He would join the collective will, and then there would be no questions or pain or confusion. He wouldn't need to worry about Samantha, who he would soon see again as allies to be together forever, and so her fate wouldn't haunt him.

"I'll make you whole," he promised the unseen force around him. "I won't question you again. I'm on my way."

**************

_Make us whole again._

"Shut up!" Samantha screamed, using the cutter on the front of her gun to bash a necromorph across the head. Something warm flecked across her face, but she barely felt it as she ran down the walkway, hellbent on reaching the medical facilities as she checked her rounds. For a moment, she saw her brother out of the corner of her eye, waving and telling her to stop and help him, but she tore her gaze away, losing sight of him amid a whirl of metal and energy blasts. She wanted to curse the hive and pray at the same time, and perhaps she did a little of both as she sealed a heavy metal door behind her, locking out the few necromorphs that had been hunting her.

"Samantha, for god's sake, open the door!" a voice called from the other side. It sounded like her brother, but how could she be sure? If someone was dying...

Her hand strayed toward the control panel before she jerked it away and continued walked, steps rigid and painful as she blocked out the sounds of death. She'd never felt so detached and hopeless in her life, and yet Mercer's office was near, and if her addled mind knew anything, it was that reaching him would make things better. Yes, if she could only be reunited with him, she could push onward, but was that her thought or one imposed by the forces working against her?

Her face screwed up in confusion as she stumbled onto a rickety walkway that hung above a series of large tanks. The hum of machinery crowded her ears, and the smell of chemicals hung heavy in the air. It wouldn't surprise her if something had been spilled or broken in this chaos, and she tried to identify the chemical as a scratching sound ignited her panic. Scratching only ever meant one thing, but which air vent? Which broken window?

"I'm ready," a voice whispered so softly that at first Samantha questioned whether or not she had actually heard anything. "Come for me!" She ran to the walkway's railing and leaned over the edge, gazing downward to find Mercer standing alone on a white tiled floor smeared with red. His arms were raised and his eyes closed, as if he were some prophet calling down fire from the heavens, but Samantha would have none of it. She saw the necromorphs climb out of the vents below and begin scrambling toward him with their jerky movements, and her gun was firing within seconds.

"Challus!" she yelled. "Run!"

"Samantha?"

One. Two. Three necromorphs fell, but there was one left, and Samantha aimed for its legs as she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Time seemed to freeze as she glanced down at her gun, the little blue zero on its screen making her heart leap to her throat. Her mind screamed as she continued to futilely pull the trigger, Mercer staring at her instead of the necromorph. His eyes were glazed over, unseeing as the demon shambled around overturned tables and dead bodies.

"Samantha, why are you here?" Mercer asked, stunned.

"Run!" she repeated, throwing her gun aside as she ran to the elevator at the end of the walkway and punched buttons. There was a fallen gun below, on the first floor. She could see it, and if she could only get there in time, all would be right again. She didn't even wait for the elevator to reach the floor when she jumped from it, injuring her ankle, but not caring as she retrieved the abandoned gun and raised it.

"Bastard!" she screamed, firing madly, but it was too late. One of the necromorph's clawed limbs was already jutting out of Mercer's chest when she blew off its head. Her mind seemed to stop functioning completely as she walked forward, firing round after round into the creature until it fell and writhed, but she would have no mercy. She fired until her gun was empty, and then she threw the weapon aside, a gasping sob choking her words as she dropped to her knees next to Mercer. He was sitting on the floor, propped against a table as her hands found his wound, pressing against the hole as if she could will it to close.

"No, not you," her voice wavered, his blood slick on her hands, and tears slick on her face as she slid closer.

"Samantha? Why are you still here?" he asked, face pained and eyes overflowing with sadness as he stared at her. "I thought that you wouldn't come back after...after you last left." She could tell that talking was difficult for him, so she bid him be quiet by gently brushing his once perfectly smoother hair back over his head while her body leaned against his.

"I could never just leave you," she softly promised, planting a kiss on his cheek. It felt so good to show affection, and genuine affection at that. "I can't leave. We can't leave. The hive has too strong of a hold over us." Her hands found his, grasping his eager fingers as he several tears escaped his eyes to mingle with the blood that began running from a corner of his mouth.

"Don't leave me," he breathed, barely audible. "I know that this is my fault, but please don't leave me. I've been alone for so long."

"I won't," Samantha promised, wrapping arms around his middle.

"You were so much stronger than me in the end..." Mercer mused, head tilting to rest against hers. He's back again, she realized, smiling despite his weakening body. "Are you real, Samantha, or is this a hallucination? My insanity is being merciful if you're a dream."

"I'm real, and I'm not leaving." He planted a bloody kiss on her forehead, and she sighed, suddenly aware of a warm sensation creeping over her mind.

_Make us whole. _

"Do you hear them?" she asked with a smile, pushing her face into the crook of his neck. A screech and scraping was growing closer behind her, but she didn't pay it any attention as one of Mercer's arms wrapped around her.

"They're calling us," he choked, words slurred and distorted by the liquid in his throat.

_Make us whole again._

"Yes," Samantha agreed, giving into the madness, even embracing it. "I won't leave this time. We'll end here together, just like we started." She found Mercer's lip and pressed hers against his, content as a sharp pain erupted in her back. It hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced before, but it didn't matter, because a voice told her that everything would be better soon. Soon this madness would be gone, and what did a little pain matter when her Challus was holding her? He looked so handsome as her arms persistently clung to him, and she was sure that she heard him calling to her as she closed her eyes.

_"We're a great team, aren't we?" she asked him, looking across the lab bench with a smile. _

_ "I knew that we would be the day we met," Mercer asserted with a slight smile. _

"Challus," Samantha whispered, and then the pain was gone.

***************

Isaac Clark leveled his pulse rifle at the necromorph and fired, quickly destroying it as he ranged through the mostly empty labs. He stepped off of an elevator and paused, stunned by the curious scene that met him as he stared down at two bodies. One was Challus Mercer, and the other a woman who he'd never before seen, and both lay in a crimson pool with arms around one another. It was not the grotesque wounds to their bodies that made him stare so much as the expression on Mercer's face, for the man looked relaxed, as did the woman. They could have been lovers sleeping in each other's arms, and the scene made Isaac lower his rifle with a sigh.

He did not know whether to be moved or heartbroken by the scene, but he knew that he would never forget seeing this. Of all the death he'd witnessed, this was different. This was human.

"Damn," Hammond softly cursed over the transmission. "This is why this place messes with your head." Isaac had forgotten that his had opened communication and video with his superior, and the man's voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

"No, sir," he lowly commented. "This is why we can't stop—why we can't lose." He left the dead behind, but they never left his mind. They were at peace while he had to fight, and for that, he envied them.


End file.
